Gods & Monsters
by Gary Fuckin' King
Summary: /Formerly 'Dark In My Imagination'./ Hours of sleep are growing shorter, hallucinations stronger, and for the first time since his hospital discharge, Will Graham is very, very close to breaking down.


**A/N: First fic for the genre; I'll put warnings into my notes as they come.**

**As I'm sure many of us do, I thrive on reviews! So, uh, you know what to do. :)**

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"Will."  
_  
It is June 21, 2013. The heat is oppressive, the dust forms a cloud of swirling razor blades in my lungs, and save for the lone falcon that wheels around the image of the sun above me, I am alone._

Sometimes I come here just to map the place out; it's how I know the area so well. A pl

_ain__ of off-white sand dunes and ditches would mean absolutely nothing to anyone else, but I? I see an intricate webbing of glass crystal and silver grain, that dusts the perfect bed for the perfect grave. __My spade strikes the earth with a dry cough and my glasses break the path of the sand that flies up from the ground. I dig in silence, as the body sprawled beside me has nothing to say and neither do I._

"Will."

Ten minutes pass before I deem the hole I've dug acceptable. I throw my spade to the side and heave the lifeless body of Michael M. Hamish up into my arms. The very hands with which I support his back as I hold him against me, brandished the knife that sliced his eyes from their sockets not two hours back.

I will my arms to drop the work of art I've created; the earth below coughs upon the impact and swallows the dead man whole. Burial is quick and thoughtless; the walk to my station wagon parked alongside the road, a mere reflex.

_**This is my design.**_

"Goddamnit, Will!"

He uses the excuse of the weather, the heat, the stench of death at the crime scene hanging in the humidity like a physical weight as an excuse, but Jack won't take it. The hallucinations are no longer a secret;once the special agent caught first wind of them, he refused to put the issue to rest.

Three months have now passed since Will fatally shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs, three months since Abigail's blood spilled through his fingers and her open throat stared him down like a hollow, bubbling eye. Jack has been urging him to talk to Lecter about it, and Alana has been pegging psych eval after psych eval on him although he's never gone through with one.

"Are you ready to go?"

"What? Yeah, I'm...oh, it's getting _late_, isn't it?" Crawford's gaze narrows into a glare and locks onto him, but Will refuses to look in his direction.

"It's noon."

"So we're eating lunch."

"_We_ did. _You_ stayed back to lay in the grave with Hamish."

"Ah." The day has been a blur and now the younger agent realizes it's only just nearing half over. He hasn't had a decent night's sleep since last Wednesday, the night he almost overdosed on sleeping pills and Dr. Bloom had forbidden him to come into work for another three days, to give him time to pull himself back together.

They approach the black FBI-issued SUV in silence, but as Will approaches the driver's seat, Jack shakes his head and the understanding is established that the younger agent can no longer be trusted behind the wheel. "At least not while I'm in it," he tunes in to hear Jack explain to him. "When it's my time, I want to be at home, surrounded by my family. Or on a beach, laying out in my birthday suit in the sand pretending I can tan. Not because you drove us off the road watching something through the rear view mirror." _That may or may not be there, no less._

"Right, I understand."

"Put your seat belt on."

"Right."

The ride passes mainly in silence, save for the occasional bump or click against the car's undercarriage as pebbles kick up from the road. It's common in this part of the state, where grass crumbles into miles of sand the the sun burns ten times brighter, to lose traction or visibility, or both, on the road, and at high noon the risk is doubled so Jack slows down a little. The bits of earth hitting the bottom of the car gives him the hint.

"How's the wrist?"

"Shut up," Will sneers.

"Excuse me?" Crawford stands on the brake.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"Don't fuck with me Will. You're on the cusp of temporary and we both know why."

"Oh, _come on._ Like you've never gone home and seen a case file staring back at you in the mirror."

"No. I haven't. And what you just said to me, you'll be telling Dr. Lecter as soon as we're out of this bone dry shit hole."

"Well, at least the feeling's mutual." Perhaps he and Jack were the two most miserable people out in the heat today. "Wait, I'm not actually seeing him today. I haven't in weeks."

"Exactly. And that ends," Jack glances at the LED clock glaring off the radio between them, "in 20 minutes. Now put your seat back and relax. Last thing I want is you doing something stupid in there because you're wound up tighter than a-"

"Al_right_." Will does as he's told. "I do hope you realize I won't be telling any of this to him."

"Well _I _hope _you _realize I already have. The hallucinating, the self-starvation, the _dog scratches_ all over your arm. Followed by that little stunt you pulled with those sleeping pills, I don't know _what_ to think, but-"

"I wasn't trying to do anything but sleep!"

"For how long!?" Stop. Breathe. Jack regroups. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't lose you now, Will. I'm already breaking enough rules keeping you this long."

_I'm sure you are._

Silence.

It stretches out for all twenty-three minutes before the mouth of the road opens into a smooth parking lot and the car groans to a halt. "I'm walking you inside."

"Think I'm gonna evade this?"

"I think you're gonna try. Well, I _know_ you will once you're in there, but I wanna see that you at least get that far."

"So, yes."

Jack keeps his word and sees to it that Will makes it into the waiting area of Lecter's office. When his young agent asks when he'll leave, he tersely responds, "once you're in. Besides, I want to have a word with him myself."


End file.
